


Of Names & Ebb

by Nico_Weetch



Series: The Collected Tellings of Shigir and Other Changeling Folktales [1]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Campfire Story, Changeling Lore, Changelings, Folktales, Gen, Pre-Series, Shigir Ideale, Shigir Stories, original lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 12:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nico_Weetch/pseuds/Nico_Weetch
Summary: The art of storytelling is very near and dear to changelings, as are stories surrounding their trickster folk hero Lord Shigir Ideale. However, this night is not about Shigir. Well not entirely.Set in a time way before the battle of Killahead.





	Of Names & Ebb

**Author's Note:**

> " “You are not Shigir Ideale incarnate.”
> 
> Now to understand the full weight of Otto’s words, one must first understand who Shigir Ideale is. Shigir Ideale, or Shigir for short, is a folk hero and the source of many oral folktales among changelings that told of the first changeling; a trickster, who was even made Lord by Morgana Le Fay - the ideal all half-breeds looked to and compared themselves to. It was also an early means of explaining their existence to themselves (when no one else bothered to, aside from saying ‘to serve’). The folktales of Shigir served as a source of familiarity in the dark lonely sea between marches, espionage, and war, a lighthouse in the solitude of the changeling lifestyle. A reminder of community that even Gunmar feared, for there was power in storytelling, (and a good portion of Shigir tales talked of duping trolls - though depending on who was in earshot the troll being tricked would interchange between Gumm-Gumm and not. Or a phrase like “The troll - well you can imagine them - but imagine them wisely.” would be used as well). Over time Gunmar and his Gumm-Gumms deplored these tales and stories and would take measures to stamping them out of existence. Despite this there isn’t a single changeling who hasn’t at least heard of the name Shigir, their marry band, their trickeries, and courtly duties to Le Fay. 
> 
> Strickler, being of an older generation, knew very well of the trickster folk hero and nearly staggered as if hit by Otto’s words. He stood his ground and tried to give the impression that his friend’s words slid off of him like water on a duck, 
> 
> “You’re right,” was his cheerless response “I’m not.” " 
> 
> \- Chapter 6, Terpsichore; or rather The Comedy of the Danse Macabre

“ ‘You do this for me Shigir, and I’ll return to you your name. Your _real_ name.’  and the Pale Lady gestured to her sack of names.”

“Oi, she didn’t keep them in no sack.” interrupted Moït, irritably through his jagged teeth. The campfire surrounding the changelings casting shifting shadows on all their faces.

“Well that’s how it was told to me.” sniffed Crumb indignantly, not at all appreciating the interruption to his turn in telling a Shigir Story. 

“She’d be too bright to keep them in a sack.” reasoned Kio into the ground rubbing her arms. 

“Well obviously it’s a magic sack!” Defended Crumb, “She wouldn’t use some regular old tawny thing laying about.”

“It wasn’t no sack.” repeated Moït. 

“Le Fay on the wind! Well where do you suggest She kept them? Hm? What were you told?” Crumb wagged his burning pipe at them.  

Moït scratched something off of one of his horns, “Well the way I was told, She kept it in a Golden Helm, so big, it held secrets that whispered into Her ears.”

“Must be a very big Helm.” scoffed Crumb into his pipe, “How do you suppose she keeps her head from tipping over all the time?”

“Are you suggesting that our Lady isn’t capable of such a weight on Her head?” challenged Moït, feeling a fight readying in his fists. 

Kio shifted on her spot of the log rearranging her cloven feet, “I heard She kept them in an elder wood box, woven with hawthorn, engraved with words so old no matter of being could ever read it except, of course - the Pale Lady.” 

Moït and Crumb looked at Kio, watching as her smile was illuminated by the fire. She stared fondly into the earth, her cloven feet were now digging into. 

The gathered changelings leaned forward in a unified gesture to hear more from Kio, impressed by how she wove her words. Crumb coughed an attempt at hiding being impressed as well.

“Did anyone ever attempt to steal the box?” asked a green toned changeling with his wings hooked tight around himself. 

Kio looked up at the young new changeling, her smile stretching, “Only one.”

“Who?” asked the changeling, ignoring his friend who whispered, “Don’t be rude, it isn’t Kio’s turn to tell a story.”

  _A polymorph_ , guessed Kio, by the way this changeling’s friend shimmered and tried to sustain his form despite, his nerves. 

“It’s alright, brother.” calmed Crumb with a puff. Feeling the fumes of the herbs tickle in his snout. He exhaled slow and low, feeling a little calmer than his earlier temper, “I yield my turn to Kio. It’s clear she captivated everyone’s attention anyways.”

The sound of a raspberry followed, “Oh don’t start sounding hurt!” went Moït not appreciating the guilt trip. 

Kio payed it no mind, however, and started to draw formations in the dirt with her cloven feet. “ _Who_ you ask?” she started gaining everyone’s attention with a single breath. 

The earring on her jingled as she turned her head to the flames, her eyes sliding from each everyone of the gathered changelings, before landing on the young winged one with horns and his polymorph friend.

“There is but one being, one of our very ilk, to have had the misfortune of crossing the Pale Lady.”

Moït shivered in anticipation, starting to know where Kio’s story was potentially going. Other changelings did as well, as the atmosphere shifted to a cold shiver, despite the shared campfire. 

“Bertilak Bredbeddle the Green Knight.” went Kio, letting the name hover over the flames with reverence. She paused, and the changelings held their breath, each of them wondering if Green Knight would come with the summons of his name being said. 

“We know Bredbeddle now as the Pale Lady’s guard and executioner. Embedded with strong magics we couldn’t begin to dream of, moving in the absence of things.”

“Like shadows?” asked the young winged one.

“Ssshh!!” went his polymorph friend.

Kio chuckled darkly, “Oh no, little one, The Pale Lady is our Mistress of Shadows, but Bredbeddle moves in the absence of _all_ things. A void walker, owing fealty to no one, save his black and white duty. The cutter to the string of fate Le Fay weaves for us. For when She feels our service is up, and we are reluctant to stop, and perform our last trick, _that_ is when she sends Bredbeddle. 

“Or rather, that is when Bredbeddle comes, sent or not.

“He has his appointed task, and he serves it. For all tricks must end, or so we’re told, and sometimes we must admit to ourselves our last trick was played- and Death is no longer amused. 

“Oh, but we changelings think ourselves clever, too stubborn to leave this earth no matter the slings and arrows. Fighting, tricking, for our right of membership in the Pale Lady’s Court. To earn a title, and maybe our name be it this realm, or the next.

“Yet only Shigir is capable to strike a bargain with Death, and fight off Bredbeddle long enough to escape. 

“But I’m getting ahead of myself.” smiled Kio, entwining her fingerer together and leaning forward to her crowed, “For this is a tale from before Bredbeddle became the Green Knight, before his battle with Shigir, before his walkings through the fields of Moró. This is the tale of how Bredbeddle stole the Pale Lady’s elder wood box of names and secrets, or should I say how _Ebb_ stole it?

“Ebb, like most half-breeds, was smart, crafty, and filled with wicked cunning that it pleased the Pale Lady greatly. Ebb was one of the first, before Shigir came along, to be praised so highly by our Maker. 

 “One day Ebb came across a boasting, well..” Kio paused, and grew silent. The gathered and listening changelings grew still as well. 

Their shifting glowing eyes scanned their surroundings, while ears twitched to hear if anyone was approaching. One, Moït, lifted his head up to try and smell the air, and instead cursed Crumb for bringing his pipe and marring everyone’s smell with it. 

Kio, having calculated how far their campfire was, bravely went on, “Ebb came across a boasting troll, full stoned, and untouched by the Pale Lady’s golden blood. We’ll call her Rocca Fields. 

“Now like I said, Rocca Fields was meandering and boasting her own brilliance. So much so, that the proud Ebb challenged Rocca Fields then and there out of sheer irritation. To a battle of wits, strength, and speed. 

“The first of which Ebb won easily, for what troll can mach a changeling’s wits? The second was almost a close tie, but Ebb still came ahead by using Rocca Field’s own strength against them. The third was a victory by landslide, as the goal was to outrun an oncoming landslide, which Ebb won.

“Yet despite Rocca Fields’s losses the troll was still boastful and full of themselves. Irritating Ebb all the more, by saying ‘You may have won, but you will never be whole. For you are neither one thing or another. I may lose, and I may die here, but I lose and die whole. While you, a monstrosity, will win as an impure. With a name as meaningful as what we’d call a tree or rock or shit.’

“And there, stuck in the stilled remains of the landslide, Rocca Fields laughed and laughed, until the sun came to claim her. This laughter poisoned poor Ebb, and turned his stomach to bile. No matter the compliments his Maker would make, he could no longer hear or feel his Maker over that lingering troll laughter he still heard.

“Days would pass and Ebb would feel himself becoming sicker and sicker with a festering he could not name. He tried to confide to his close friend, Skülok, but she could not help him. 

“Skülok would later tell Ebb’s tale to Valÿ, who, as we know, eventually passes the tale onto Lord Shigir Ideale - but that is another story.

“Ebb finally came to the conclusion that it is his name, or lack thereof that is what bothers him. He may call himself Ebb through his bond with his familiar, and the gift the Pale Lady gave all changelings, and by means of what other brothers and sisters called him - but that wasn’t who Ebb was. 

“Now this is set in a time when the Pale Lady was more merciful to the request of our names returned. For only three beings knew our true names, the trolls that sired us, and the Pale Lady. Though it is impossible and futile to go looking for the trolls that sired and abandoned us, there was the Pale Lady. 

“Thus Ebb sought Her glorious audience, and, being in her current favor, She listened and pitted Her child.  

“  ‘Poor lamb.’ She’d say, ‘I hear your plight, and pity your sickness. It sadness me deeply that you feel this way despite knowing and feeling my magnificence.’

“  ‘I know it is wrong, and yet I feel it in my heart, and burns my inside, that this is a thing I must know. O Maker, won’t you ease this? I beg of you, I will be forever in your service.’ went Ebb desperately. 

“The Pale Lady smiled at that, and laughed a gently motherly laugh, ‘Oh Ebb, you are already forever in my service, as all my children are - no matter how far they may run, or some may deny it.’

“ ‘I would never be so traitorous!’   

“At this the Pale Lady, in all Her glory, stared down at the changeling feeling what was, is, and will be, and frowned. ‘Perhaps not, perhaps so. Regardless, it is not yet time for your name to be returned. And like all names, and secrets, it will remain within my elder wood box.’ She gestured to the court room’s pedestal without taking Her eyes off of Ebb. Watching his crafty mind calculate ungratefully so even in Her presence. 

“The Pale Lady waved her hand with a sigh, dismissing Ebb from her sight, ‘Now go Ebb. Before you anger me, go, and find a way to better serve me rather than stoking the sickness within you.’ 

“And with a great bow, Ebb left Le Fay’s presence, and tried very hard to heed Her words. Despite the sickness, he would please the Pale Lady three more times, until finally he could no longer take the burning sensation and want to be whole. To claim ownership of his name. 

“And with that, a plan came to Ebb’s mind. So clear, it almost felt silly how obvious it was. 

“ ‘After all’ went Ebb, that dark night while packing his things and readying himself for the self made job ahead, ‘Wouldn’t I serve Her better by being whole? My talents are all my own, why should my name be the only thing that is borrowed? This simply won’t do!’

“Ebb would continue to convince himself that this was the best way to serve the Pale Lady all the way to Her castle. Knowing the castle well for being in Her favor for so long, it was easy for Ebb to slip past the guards. 

“Only one caught him him off guard, and this was none other than the changeling Valÿ. 

“ ‘Ebb!’ she’d hiss in the night, her fearful Rigor-Mortis spear pointed at Ebb, ‘Don’t do this. If you turn back and head home now, it won’t have to come to us fighting.’ it pained the then young Valÿ to have to fight Ebb. Ebb who was seen as so beloved. 

“ ‘I can’t stop now.’ went Ebb who beat Rigor-Mortis back, and slashing through Valÿ through the prickling tears in his eyes, ‘I’ve come too far!’

“ ‘No! There’s time, to turn back! You must be patient! We will have our names returned to us someday, in the end.’

“ ‘I do not wish to wait for my end to have my name.’ went Ebb viciously before slicing Valÿ’s eye, ‘We must take what is ours! The Pale Lady will praise this initiative, you will see.’ and poor Valÿ rolled on the ground grasping at her lost eye, only for it to be crushed by Ebb’s stepping weight. ‘I will serve her better, whole.’ Ebb continued.

“He used the drapes and tied them in a way that it would slingshot himself to the high standing pedestal in the Pale Lady’s court room. Meanwhile Valÿ used this time to collect herself, and ran towards the pedestal’s base. All the while Valÿ barked at the remaining guards to go and warn the Pale Lady of what was happening. 

“With the great Rigor-Mortis Valÿ began to beat and pound against the pedestal’s base, in the hopes of knocking Ebb off his balance. But the changeling kept climbing the remainder of the pedestal. Losing his balance only a few times. However Ebb in his falling momentum would shoot hooks into the pedestal, and with a great tug would sling shot himself further upwards. Further and closer to the elder wood box. 

“It was then that the Pale Lady Herself emerged into the room. Enraged and saddened. She, too tried to seize Ebb, wailing in a language no changeling or troll could understand. 

“Ebb dodged this too. He used the Pale Lady’s massive hand as a spring board to flip from, and as luck should have it Valÿ would miss her mark with her spear, and Rigor Mortis would lodge itself into the pedestal in such a way the Ebb could use it for the final stretch to seize the elder wood box. 

“Everything grew still, including the Pale Lady. 

“ ‘Little lamb,’ She said, ‘you do not know what it is you’re doing. You don’t know what it means to take back your name before it is time.’ and there was sadness in the Pale Lady’s voice. Sadness that, despite trying, she knew it would come to this. 

“Ebb clutched the box close to himself, eyes wild with triumph, ‘But I do O Maker! I see it in your sad eyes, and how you pity me! I see it in Valÿ’s blows, and how Skülok tried to comfort me. This is part of a test of your making, Maker. It is not time, but I will make it my time!’ Ebb raised the box over his head shaking it for the world and his creator to see, ‘This is how I can serve you best, my Eldritch Queen! I the first self made changeling! I Ebb! No..’ 

“Ebb lowered the box with maddening eyes, turning it over and grazing his fingers over it, ‘The first self made changeling, the first whole changeling will be-’

“And many things happened at once: Ebb opened the elder wood box with woven hawthorn and engraved words of eldritch arcane knowing. It filled the room with a light so suffocating Ebb couldn’t breath. In its light Valÿ forced herself to turn away. For despite her loyalties all changelings are tantalized to know their true name. Valÿ’s spear, Rigor-Mortis, became embedded with magics. And the Pale Lady wept for what was to come. 

“For Ebb did indeed have his name returned to him, engraved back into his very geode and being, woven into the fabrics of himself. A ‘himself’ the Name no longer recognized yet was forced to return to. After all, Ebb was no longer the troll he once was, no changeling is, not after receiving Her gifts. And without Her help and guidance and eldritch power, the return of our names is pure chaos.   

“In that light Ebb saw what all changelings wished and yearned in their heart of hearts, he saw his birth parents. Witnessed the brief time living with them. Re-lived their abandonment, and with it, re-lived the pain of our becoming - but in doing so Ebb lost all connection to his familiar, killing the poor babe in the process.

“Ebb was no more. 

“The elder wood box’s glow would dim, and reaching forward the Pale Lady would close it shut, making it disappear from the realm with a single thought. 

“ ‘Stand then, changeling, thief of names.’ said the Pale Lady. 

“Valÿ who groaned on the floor attempting to get up, gasped at what she could see with her eye. Where once stood Ebb was a figure Valÿ no longer recognized. Dark and green, an embodiment of stillness and movement. The feeling of spaces devoid of sound where there should be sound. The feeling of frozen over bodies of water, and frostbite. A body half and amalgamation of flesh and stone alike, and green like the bogs of Troph, clad in emerald armor. 

“ ‘Name yourself.’ commanded the Eldritch Queen. ‘Speak it.’

“ ‘I am Bertilak Bredbeddle’ and his flesh and stone skin shimmered and moved like a polymorph before deciding a shape. Bredbeddle would stab into his shifting flesh and make with his own body the mighty weapon Shears. 

“ ‘Indeed you are, lost lamb. Traitorous impure.’ and the Pale Lady lifted her finger and struck her nail through Bredbeddle impaling him like a hot knife through bread. ‘Who do you serve?’

“And the Green Knight looked up at his Eldritch Queen, and said with a low rasp, ‘I serve the balance of things, my Queen.’ and with the use of his newly made blade Shears, swiped and severed the nail that impaled him from the Pale Lady. 

“And Bredbeddle backflipped off the pedestal, phased in and out from the realm, turning into a bone white silhouette in shadow, and landed before Valÿ, blade to her throat. 

“Valÿ gasped before Bredbeddle looking into his hollow eyes. Her wounded eye socket bleeding an orange like puss, while her other eye welled with hot angry tears. Bredbeddle stared with no emotion to give in return, and said ‘It is not yet your time. There are tricks you must still learn, and teach.’ 

“And without shifting his gaze Bredbeddle flung his weapon, Shears to a nameless guard, hitting its mark with a sickening crack. ‘You, however, are out of tricks.’ 

“The Pale Lady watched unmoved. Her fingernail still impaled through Bredbeddle. The two would share a glance, and Bredbeddle the Green Knight, blinked from existence in the realm. 

“He would become a warning to all changelings who dared try to over step their place, to rush to their fortunes before their time. Bredbeddle would also become a guide to the Otherside. Vilified, and forever a servant bound to his own name, all because he lost his cool. Woe be to all changelings should they ever cross paths with the Green Knight. 

“They say he waits in the crossroads and choices of things, watching and weighing one's actions between how they would benefit the Pale Lady and themselves. Sniffing at our pride, and hearing our reactions to being called impure. Keeping score, and counting, until that day he greats you. 

“Still impaled by our Eldritch Queen’s fingernail, as it is this that keeps his immunity to the sun. Familiar or no, Bertilak Bredbeddle the Green Knight was still a changeling, and when he calls, we must answer, lest we meet his Shears.”

Kio’s words hung like a lasting chord to an ending song. The listening group watched with held breath before she let drop her head and lean back, pleased with herself and her telling. Some of the changelings clapped. Other’s agreed to a shared puff of Crumb’s pipe. They’d compliment Kio and her storytelling, thanking her, and telling her, “I’ll remember this and your words in the night’s to come.” and she’d grin, proud, (though, not too proud, of course). 

The young winged changeling looked seriously into the earth, trying to formulate an understanding of something that felt bigger than himself.

While other’s would start up other conversations, or discuss amongst themselves how they felt about the story, some sharing they heard the story differently, but liked this one all the same, Kio leaned forward to the pensive green winged changeling who stared at his hands. 

“Everything alright, brother?”

“Y-yes!” was the changeling’s impulsive response, before frowning back into his hands. The winged one would look up more determined into Kio’s eyes. Giving a look she could not entirely describe. and said, “Despite it all though, Bredbeddle got his name. He set out for something, and achieved it. He got what we all want, he got his name.”

“Yes...” went Kio, unsure why she felt a sense of unease looking into the laughing eyes of this winged changeling, “yes he did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Holy COOOOW honestly this started as a little blurb to try and fight off some writers block so I can finally get Ch.8 done and out there. 4-ish hours later a full blown folktale springs out of my fingertips haha. We'll see if this ends up becoming a series, I do plan on writing more Shigir tales in the future - though whether it'd be as sort of stand alone 'campfire stories' or within the Terpsichore universe told by some of our fave changelings we'll have to wait and see.  
> Heck, even both can happen, why not?
> 
> Any who thank you so much for reading!!


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